Explore "The Coming of Night" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
How the old mountains drip with sunset, / And the brake of dun!
How the hemlocks are tipped in tinsel / By the wizard sun!
How the old steeples hand the scarlet, / Till the ball is full, -- / Have I the lip of the flamingo / That I dare to tell?
Then, how the fire ebbs like billows, / Touching all the grass / With a departing, sapphire feature, / As if a duchess pass!
How a small dusk crawls on the village / Till the houses blot; / And the odd flambeaux no men carry / Glimmer on the spot!
Now it is night in nest and kennel, / And where was the wood, / Just a dome of abyss is nodding / Into solitude! --
These are the visions baffled Guido; / Titian never told; / Domenichino dropped the pencil, / Powerless to unfold.